


Damn Romance Novel

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Destiel Ficlets [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Case Fic, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel go undercover on a case where rejected stories from a publishing house are bleeding into the non-fictional world. Guess what story they end up being drawn into?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn Romance Novel

**Author's Note:**

> I write when I'm bored, or need something else to write when I've hit writers block on other fics. This one has fluff, crack, and a little porn.

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips in the hopes that the threat of his own fist will kill any moans that try to escape.  How did it get to this, he wonders.

Mid-hunt in Nebraska, Dean and Cas are stuck doing undercover work at a boring as hell publishing house. Correction: _previously_ boring as hell. It began with some of the stories coming true. Only the ones not getting published as circumstance would have it.

Everyone in the office has been getting sucked into these wild, not so great stories, and going undercover seemed a decent enough risk to figure out what was going on. Sure, two people had died—one from a horrific incident with a paper shredder, and another from being stabbed by a sword—but Dean had never hunted anything he wasn't sure he could kill.

What they hadn't realized upon securing their fake identities and nine-to-five vocations at this cubicle ridden nightmare was that ALL stories were coming true. Love stories, stories of self-exploration, action stories, stories of power and control, stories about random shit like going blind and losing a dog.  No one seems to notice the peculiar events unfolding around them, except he and Cas.

At first glance, the stories could be mistaken for the simple happenings of all these peoples' lives but Dean knows weird when he finds it. Besides, Sam has so far been able to pin down everything bizarre they've noted with a story being reviewed by this company.

For example, he muses, the fact that Cas is now under his desk sucking him off most definitely falls in line with a weird, peculiar event. Considering that before this case, they'd been nothing more than friends. There's a romance novel he's sure to blame for this, but as he feels the wet suction of Cas' hot mouth, he can't bring himself to care.

Snapping a pen in half, creating a mess of ink all over the manuscript he's "supposed" to be reading, Dean comes, his head lowered to hide his orgasm face from the other co-workers.

With an obscene sound, Cas pulls off and kindly tucks him back into this pants. It's a damn good thing he has his own office instead of open cubicle like those in the main room. Unfortunately, that office has windows masquerading as walls that separate him from the forty potential peepers. If there had been blinds, this would have been acceptable.  

Rolling back in his chair, he takes a quick gander at the naughty smile Cas is wearing, and fuck, there's something he's never seen before.

Shit. First the kiss in the copy room two days ago, then the mutual jerk-off in the elevator yesterday. What the fuck is going on? It's not like he's told Sam about this one.

"You look upset," states Cas as he tries to crawl out from under the desk.

"What are you doing!? They'll see you." Dean protests, trying to shove him back under, wondering how they even managed to get to this point in the first place.

"No one pays attention to anything around here." Cas takes charge and shoves his chair back and stands, as nonchalant as one can after emerging from under a desk.

Cas is right. They're all wrapped up in their fictional dramas that they aren't even aware that it doesn't make sense.

"You do realize we've been sucked into this, too… Pun not intended."  Dean says, grabbing his cup of water to satiate the thirst that built as he sat there with his jaw hanging open.

"You're referring to our recent sexual activities."  Cas walks casually around the back of his chair, running his fingers along the spines of published books that decorate the back wall in an impressive row of dark wood bookcases.

"So you noticed, then." Dean says drily, dropping his neck onto the back of the chair to see Cas hovering behind him.

"It's hard not to notice your dick in my mouth." Cas smirks. Dean has to bite his lip and close his eyes. Whatever the hell this story is about, there is without a doubt, a line that says: ...and every time the man speaks, the other becomes as horny as a teenage boy with the promise of his first hand-job.

"Cas." Dean uses the name as a disciplinary tool, hoping to put an end to their own melodrama so that they can focus on the case.

"Yes, Dean?" Leaning over the chair, mouth daringly close, Cas peers at him the way Dean looks at a twenty-six ounce steak. In fact, his mouth waters.

"The case, Cas. We need to focus on the case," he grates through his teeth.

Groaning with unnecessary exaggeration, Cas shakes the chair and then ruffles Dean's hair. It’s so wildly out of character for the angel that it makes Dean angry.

"Go and sneak into the boss man's office and try to find out if there have been any sacked employees lately, alright?"

Aiming his focus towards the desk, Dean grabs the edge and pulls himself back in, trying not to picture Cas shoved under there going to town.

"Fine. We'll work on the stupid case." Cas turns and heads towards the door, he's between the jambs when he spins back around and runs a dirty hand down his chest, and lower, where he cups himself and licks his lips. "I'll be back!"

In his absence, Dean bangs his forehead on the wooden desk hoping to dislodge the image from his brain. Not at all because it was unwanted, but because he can't think around its presence.

Readying himself for the inundation of questions, he whips out his phone and calls Sam. The line connects and without waiting he says, "We have a little problem."

"What's up?"

"Umm… there's a slight chance Cas and I have been affected like everyone else."

"Oh yeah, how so?"

Dean scrunches his nose. "Well… how about we leave it at Cas and I are… being affected. Do you have any leads? No one we've talked to so far seems to think there's anything freaky-deaky going on, and Cas is going off to check employment records."

"I don't think that's it though. I think it's a writer."

Dean had given that thought a pass or two, but there were multiple books coming true, not any of them had the same author. Heck, they weren't even the same genre. He relays this to his brother.

"Maybe they're just pissed about not getting published and decided to stick it to Harper Inc. by bringing to life _all_ unpublished, rejected works?"

"Maybe…" he concedes. "That's some pretty hefty power though." Dean uses a kleenex to try and mop up the ink smear on his desk but only manages to spread it around.

"I agree. So what book did you and Cas end up in? Some cheesy, seventies spy novel?" Sam laughs at himself and Dean can't help but think, dude, you don't know the half of it. Cheesy, seventies somethin' alright.

"Something like that. Look, Sammy, heads up that if I call you and say red alert you come guns'a blazin, yeah?"

"For sure. You know I've got your back, Dean."

With nothing further to say, he hangs up and looks out over the sea of cubicles through the glass walls. Someone is wearing a parrot on their shoulder. A damn parrot. But does anyone point and go hey that's weird, man! Nope. They all crowd around, oh, who's your parrot? And the guy is like, "Aye, this here's Barnaby. Watch yer fingers there, he bites!"

Dean is distracted from the god awful fake pirate storyline by a bombshell beauty marching into his office. Amber? Amy? A-something? Dean can't pindown her name but she always fills him with an intense urge to gossip. It's equally unnerving as it is fun.

"I hear someone got a little treat earlier," she snickers, adjusts her blouse and pushes up her breasts to show off her in-your-face cleavage.

He can't help himself. "Maybe…" he leads with a guilty but demure look. It's not him. Not by a long shot. But he simply can't control it.

"You naughty man. And guess what? Carol had an affair with Matt in the copy room last night. And he's still fooling around with Jenny."

"No!" Dean says dramatically. "Matty's gonna be in a world of trouble soon."

"I hear ya. Man I wish I didn't know everything. It's my curse you know. I'm cursed to know everything. Been that way since I was a kid." _Anne_! That’s her name; her storyline pulled from some lame supernatural book.

"It must be hard," says Dean. "You should come out with Cas and I sometime." _What_?! "We love double dates, if you're still seeing that broody guitar player." Double dates?! Where in god's name is this BS coming from?

"Hmmm," she purrs over her man. "Striker. As long as he's not meeting up with those criminal friends of his, we're there." She winks and sashays her way out of the office door.

Quickly, he texts Sam. "I gossiped like a gossip girl, Sam. Shit's getting serious."

The day is almost over for the office crowd and Dean pretends to pack up the work he hasn't done. Which is pretty well all of it since he does nothing except to read the rejected stuff for clues and hasn't given a passing glance to the pile of new crap on his desk.

Cas walks in and shuts the door. It's a glass door and therefore the gesture is useless.

"What do you want?" Dean asks point-blank, as he sees something wicked take shape to turn the normally innocent blue eyes a shade closer to hungry.

"I want to bend you over the desk."

Dean chokes. "You want to _what_?! Actually no—never mind. I don't need to hear that again." Trying vehemently not to be distracted by the way Cas is checking him out, Dean grabs his briefcase and cautiously approaches the door. There's no way he's getting by easily.

"K, time to head out. Go." Dean gestures with his hand a safe three feet away.

"Don't you want to hear about what I found?

That snags his attention. "Yeah, definitely. What secrets of the publishing world did you uncover?"

Cas twists at the waist to survey the greater room behind them. No one appears to be left.

"Remove your pants." Cas says casually, leaning back against the door, his eyes roaming up and down Dean's body.

Dean clears his throat. "Cas. The case, remember? Just the details. Don't let this crazy mojo get to ya!"

"Of course, Dean. The case is important. But I'm rather enjoying myself, aren't you?" The brief flicker of worry and sadness creeps through the familiar features.

Shit, it's not like he wants to hurt the dudes feelings. "Yeah, I guess. I dunno…" Way to be smooth, Dean. For the first time since they met, he sees himself as this uncoordinated lump of human overshadowed by a dominant, entirely confident man. It reminds Dean of the way things had begun between them. Cas had marched into his life like a rocket. Whether it’s him or the book, Dean finds he wants to give himself over to this version of Cas, this undeniable presence that has always made him feel the opposite of his standard setting. All the macho in him dies away, all the bravado crawls along with it. It's not quite a vulnerability, but a willingness and desire to put his life into the hands that marked him.

The glass walls and the reflection are a teasing high and without overthinking it, Dean chucks his pants to the floor.

"That's more like it." Damn, that voice is gonna turn him into a honest-to-god puddle one of these days.

Cas should wipe the winner's crooked grin from his face though. Dean ain't that easy. "Now it's your turn—What'd'ya find out?"

"The CEO received a threat two months ago." Cas walks towards him.

"…And?"

"And take off your shirt, but leave the tie."

Dean's blood gets hotter as he moves to comply. "…Annnnd?"

"The paper on which the threat was laid out smelled of patchouli."

Huh. "What kinda spells use that?" Dean asks mostly to himself, standing there with his pants around his ankles and his dress shirt still cuffed to his wrists like the shackles of modern America.

" _Ah_!" Dean yelps when Cas reaches to snap the band of his boxers against his skin. "Give a guy some warning, would ya? Alright, alright, what else did you get?"

The former angel doesn't reply except to snap his boxer elastic again. Snark and daring sneak up on Dean and he gives Cas a cheeky look, "You want them off so bad, take 'em off yourself."

In the blink of an eye, the blue and green plaid boxers are dropped to make a nice puddle of cotton with his pants.

"You want to hear the last bit?" Cas asks. The fucker is standing there fully clothed, as Dean’s reduced to near nothing except socks, shoes and the fucking tie. The part that annoys him the most is that its turning him on.  

"Do tell."

"Touch yourself." Cas tips his head sideways and licks his lips.

Dammit. "You go and get me all undressed and you're not even gonna do the work?" Dean tsks, but brings his hand around and gives Cas a show anyway. Again, not something he would've done four days ago, but here he is giving Cas a submissive look as he jerks himself in front of a wall of windows that may or may not have anyone on the other side.  

"The threat implied there had been some ridicule, as if the company had somehow mocked the writer. I suppose it's one thing to reject a submission, but to feel you've been ridiculed must surely imply a larger grievance that we should easily uncover, given sufficient time."

"Uh-huh." Dean mutters distractedly, speeding up his hand.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?" With his head thrown back, he loses track of where Cas is in the room, and it startles him when warm fingers cup his sac. "Jes-us Cas… fuck…"

"I'm not sure what book we are in, Dean, but I fail to see why it was rejected." Cas enunciates his evident wonder over this by inching back to the sensitive spot between Dean's legs.

"Holy fuck—what's the hells going on?" Dean stammers, eyes cinched tight to block out the disruptive reality of Cas fondling his junk and sneaking fingers towards places that makes his heart race. As much as the moment frightens him with whatever consequences might follow, he slightly widens his stance, and releases a heavy breath at the feel of Cas trailing further back. Not quite all the way, but enough that the steady grip on himself falters, the rhythm losing balance.

"Come for me."

The loud shout is muffled by Cas' hand slapping over his mouth and he can't believe he came that easy. Fucking romance novels. So unrealistic. Not that he's complaining in any way as he sags bonelessly onto Cas' waiting shoulder.

"Whatever this story is, I'm pretty sure I'm your bitch."

Cas laughs in an exuberant, careless way that he's never seen before. "Not at all, Dean. In this story, it seems, you're open to me, you trust me, you want me…"

It's on the tip of his tongue to say that's always been true, but at the last second he bites back the reply and shoves it down where it belongs.

"Let's get back to the motel and do some more research on this threat, okay?" Checking himself over, he realizes he's gonna have a real hard time explaining this one to Sam. Even after he and Cas manage to put all his clothes back on, there's a not so curious stain from droplets of come that landed on his crumpled dress pants at his feet.

Quickly dashing to the restrooms before they leave, he scrubs out the white, crusty spots as best he can. Angling the dryer towards his crotch and legs, he gets the wet spots dry enough that they're invisible if still a bit damp.

The car ride home is laced with more sexual tension. The night after the kiss, it was almost as if they'd forgotten about it altogether. Yesterday, after the mutual hand action, they'd been awkward and weird around each other, but again, neither said a word. Tonight feels different.

With each mile added between them and their new work, he feels the bizarre hold on him dial down a notch. Unfortunately, the appeal of Cas sitting there in the passenger seat is as much of a distraction as it was during the day and whether it's attraction or simple curiosity, he's not sure.

Inside the motel room, full of greasy fast food that makes him burp, Dean is sitting up against the headboard with the laptop warming his thighs. The first day, they'd managed to download the list of submitted works from the last three months. Sam's been rummaging through it, but there are hundreds of entries, maybe a thousand.

At the moment, he isn't browsing for clues. He's scanning for gay romance novels. Unfortunately nothing screams out at him, the books only broken down into title, author, date submitted, genre, and whether the book was rejected or published.

"What are you even looking for?" asks Sam from the table where he's doing research on the monster front, and more, what crowd of uglies has the juice for this kinda scheme.

"Nothing," Dean tells him rudely.

"Sure, Dean."

Cas, meanwhile, is perched at the end of Dean's bed engrossed in some evening drama that occasionally catches Dean's attention. Seems to be about some ballsy law professor and group of eager-beaver types.

The casual flirtation between two guys drags his eyes away from the excel spreadsheet. Though Cas doesn't outright turn back and say something inappropriate, it's hovering there in the air between them. Sam either doesn't notice, or likely doesn't care.

Later in the episode, there's an incredible, tortuously hot scene between the two and he feels his face flush thinking about he and Cas getting a little rambunctious together.

"Dammit!" Dean curses and slams the laptop closed. This curse or spell or whatever, is fucking with his equilibrium and it's really not cool.

"What is it?" asks Sam casually. Cas, too, has shifted one knee up on the bed to look back at Dean.

"Nothin'. Case sucks that's all. Did you find anything, Sam?"

"Got a list of possibles; powerful witches, a couple of deities, and archangels, of course. But with Cas getting a whiff of patchouli, I'm gonna go with powerful witch."

Dean nods. "Seems logical."

"Except, how do we find them?" Cas wonders, stretching out along the bottom edge of Dean's bed, fully on his side, with his head supported by his hand.

Sam notices the strange demeanour but doesn't comment. "You guys find any hexbags?"

Cas smiles at Dean. "I assure you there are none under Dean's desk."

Grinding his teeth, he silently screams at Cas to shut his yap.  The whole thing whizzes right by Sam's head. Thank God. "Okay, well keep looking, I guess."

Still facing Dean, Cas nibbles at his lower lip for a breath. "Back to the grind tomorrow, right, Dean?"

Sam finds the whole thing amusing somehow, but in a non-suspicious way. "You're liking the working life, huh, Cas?"

"Yes, Sam. I find I've been enjoying it immensely."

"I bet you have." Dean murmurs under his breath.

An hour and bit later, they're settling down for sleep and sharing a room means they’ve been rotating on the cot against the closet near the bathroom. It's Cas' turn tonight and Dean can hear him shifting from one side to the other. Yeah, it's a crappy mattress with springs that try to stab between your ribs, but damn dude, cut it out.

A few creaky shifts later, Dean shuffles over to the far edge of his own mattress. "Dude, would ya go to sleep already?" he whispers harshly.

"It's impossible." Cas replies simply.

Checking over his shoulder to see that Sam is dead asleep on the far queen-size bed, Dean pushes himself back on the bed and rips the covers off the corner of the edge. "Get the hell in and don't make me regret it."

Cas plants him with the most unholy look and there's no way he's not regretting this in the morning.

Sliding smoothly under the covers, Cas scoots closer until Dean's close to falling off the edge.

"What are you doing?" he whispers as low as possible and yet still be heard.

"I want to feel your body next to mine as I sleep." The response is doled out so matter of fact that it boggles Dean for a minute. Of course they should cuddle, he thinks.

The rustling blankets clear some of the fog in his brain, and he's on the verge of protesting when Cas' leg slots in between his thighs, and an arm snakes around his middle and pulls him in closer. The warmth of a body next to him is a nearly forgotten concept. Sex he's had by the bucketful, but cuddling's not exactly a ticking box on his one-night stand repertoire.

"Dean." Cas murmurs against his collar bone, the messy head of hair tickling the underside of Dean's chin.

"Hmm?"

"I hope our story never ends." The sleepy admission causes Dean to reevaluate his oxygen levels, and yeah, he needs to take a deep breath here.

Laying there encased in the arms of his best friend he fights off an inundation of mixed thoughts and emotions.

**/\/\/\**

The minimal light of the approaching sunrise wakens Dean for some reason, though it usually doesn't. Sam, on the other bed, is lightly snoring.

And the warmth against Dean's back? That would be Cas. And that hard swell of a body part that is currently trying to lodge itself into the cushion of his ass cheek would be Cas' morning wood.

Nudging back with his ass he gently tries to rouse the guy awake so that he can kick him out of bed before Sam gets up. Besides, they probably have to be at work in an hour and a bit anyway.

The only think his ass backup does is entice Cas to reach around, palm across his belly, a pinkie sliding casually under the top of his boxers.

Dean ignores the weight growing in his groin and grates his teeth. Before he can roll over and ask Cas to scoot out, a wet kiss greets the back of his neck. It does not make him grind back. Nope.  Damn, it's getting hot in here.

Cas' hand slips down to rub the indent where his leg meets his pelvis and the touch is the biggest tease that Dean has to bite down on his lip to avoid demanding for more.  The warm, slick mouth marking out patterns up and down the top of his spine, and into the dip towards his shoulder give him shivers that amass towards his cock like a current of electricity.

Out of nowhere Sam shifts on the other bed, the loud, abrupt creaking startles Dean's heart, nearly stopping it altogether, and he stops moving—Had he been moving? he asks himself. Judging by the strong desire to press back into the warmth of Cas' junk, he's gonna go with yeah, he was humping back on the guy one hundred percent.

It's hard to breathe and try not to breathe too loud at the same time, and he should've rolled over and got out of bed himself but now Cas is tugging the back of his boxers down and he's unable to voice or indicate any objection. It's a special type of thrill that it's all happening in the strange quiet of dawn with Sam six feet away.

Cas nibbles the inner curve of his throat and he nearly purrs it feels so good, especially with the unshaven scrape of Cas' day old scruff.

In the lowest, dirtiest whisper, Cas breathes hot into his ear, "Rub back against me, Dean."

The depth of his arousal has now undeniably passed the point of no return. He's hot all over, and his dick is a thick, heavy presence that demands attention. Throwing the previous days' protests right the fuck out the window, Dean grinds his ass back and jerks as he feels the electrifyingly warm cock press in between his cheeks. A moan softly crosses his lips at the feel of Cas' hand curling around him and starting a gentle stroke that Dean finds perfect for morning action. Anything too fast or rough always kills it this early, with sleep still sluggish in your limbs.

The goal is obviously not to fuck for real. They’ve got nothing for that, and Dean's in no way ready despite his shameless motions on the bed, back and forth between Cas' cock and his hand. It's getting harder and harder to cut off the need to make noise. He wants more friction, more touch, a harder crushing of Cas' dick up against the nerve-ridden ring of muscle that's tingling for something that it won't get. In a way, that makes it all hotter; the need to press his lips together, the paced slide of Cas' hand, the rigid length prodding against giving flesh.

Cas notices the struggle and slides an arm under him, turning in at the wrist and sealing his previously unoccupied hand over Dean's lips.

A few minutes of rocking and hand action later and there's a sharp pinch of teeth digging into the meaty part of his shoulder, followed by a flood of warm release all over his ass, in the crack, dripping down over one cheek… everywhere. It's the weirdest, unimaginable turn-on and Dean comes a few thrusts later into Cas' steady hand.

In the aftermath, he realizes how badly he's limited his oxygen supply and he wants to suck down oxygen and pant loudly to get his breath back but he can't.  Instead he holds his breath, checks over to make sure Sam is still out, and slides out of the bed, yanking his boxers back up as quick as he can and dashes into the bathroom.

It's maybe a bit rude to simply leave Cas there in the mess they just made, but it would've been bad enough if Dean had been caught sleeping in the same bad with the guy, but a hell of a lot worse if they'd been caught rutting against each other like horny, inexperienced freshman.

Dean showers long enough to reset his faculties. When he's out of the bathroom a long half hour later, he finds Cas face down on the bed, half the blanket shoved away to showcase the long, lean expanse of his back. The sheet is slanted across the swell of his ass. Where his boxers are now, Dean doesn't care to ask.

Sending a praise up to Heaven that Sam is still asleep, Dean reaches over the bed—not daring to get back in—and shakes Cas by the shoulder. "Up and at'em buddy. Time for work."

Rolling over with a groan, Cas spreads his legs and adjusts himself with a crooked grin, his eyes focused on Dean as if he were the only thing visible in the room.

"Get up and get dressed. And be quiet," Dean whispers urgently.

As they're opening the door to leave a while later, Sam pushes up onto his arms and groggily glances in their general direction. "Work?" he mumbles with his eyes mostly closed.

"Yeah, call me if you find anything, Sammy."

Sam falls back onto the bed and makes the grumpy equivalent of a yes.

On the car ride to work, Cas continues to watch Dean, but not the innocent, curious adorable way he used to, but in a new hungry sort of way that Dean's body responds to despite the shouting from his brain.

"Don't crash us," teases Cas.

Dean's about to ask why, but the hand suddenly on his leg throws his mouth open for a different reason. The touch is nothing beyond a massage at first—absolutely ignorable.

At the first red light off the highway, the hand creeps higher, fingers groping towards the inside of his thigh. Dean's breath picks up pace and he unknowingly shifts forward in the seat in some pathetic attempt to get the hand closer.

"Cas…" The name comes out even though he's not sure if it’s a cry for more or a demand that it stops. Nevertheless, he's not blind to the cause behind it all. "The case. It's the case, just the case… the case…" The damn word repeats itself since his brains frozen and needs a restart.

"Is it?" asks Cas in the same breath that he reaches back and cups Dean and squeezes and rubs.

"The ca…sssse…" Dean stutters, pushing his hips up and accidentally dropping more weight onto the accelerator. They lurch forward and he break, his leg moving only emphasizes the steady pressure Cas is keeping up.

"Say you want me."

Dean opens and closes his mouth in repetition. Almost whipping by a stop sign, he slams the breaks. "I want you," he admits.

It takes a honk from behind them to get them past the stop sign. The press of Cas' hand is tortuous now, moving rough against his pants and picking up the pace.

"Say I'm yours."

Dean can't believe his ears. Does Cas really want that? Is it just this damn romance novel? Turning the last corner, catching sight of the building up ahead, he's dreading leaving the humidity of the impala.

"You're mine," he chokes out, knowing he's damn close.

The hand vanishes. His crotch is cold and frictionless and he turns to look beside him as they pull into the parking deck.

The familiar once-innocent stare is smirking. Somewhere there Dean imagines he sees a deeper emotion than triumph over controlling his pleasure.

Before they exit the car, Cas reaches over and gently grabs Dean's chin and guides him closer. "You're mine too, Dean. You've always been mine."

Dean's breath catches and he can't look away for anything. In the moment, it's as though the universe is trapped in Cas' soul and Dean needs to bury himself in or he'll end up somewhere he doesn't want to be.

"Let's go to work."

Cas' voice breaks the spell that's had him transfixed and he shakes himself out of it. Damn book, throwing super gayness into his brain. Knowing this however, doesn’t lessen the feeling at all. Cas has become the human embodiment of all that makes a home special. The smell, the sight, the familiarity, the sense of safety and relaxation. It's all wrapped inside smooth skin and chapped lips.

"Yeah, okay." Dean's lost his edge now. Whatever authoritative influence he once had over Cas is now stripped bare. It's not quite a shift towards absolute submission, but it carries a comparable vulnerability.

Later at his desk, it's hard to concentrate on the case. Mostly because he doesn’t want to. No, what he wants, is to have Cas come in and distract him from the worries of the world.

Dammit. Stop, Dean chastises himself. Get your head together, man. It's just the case. Shaking himself up and slapping the desk, Dean cracks his neck and starts doing some searches on the internal drives of the network at the company.

At lunch, Cas comes in and they both smile. How is it possible he's this relieved to see that face again? It's been three measly hours.

"You missed me didn't you?"

"No." Yes…

"Don't lie. It's okay. I missed you as well."

This is crazy. Are there actual couples that are this needy of each other?

"I'm trying to find suspicious deleted files, you wanna help me?" he asks.

"Sure." Cas strides over, moving to stand behind him and casually begins to massage his shoulders as though it's the most natural thing to do in the world. It feels incredible.

"Damn, Cas. You're good."

Over the next half hour, they browse through file after file. Digging into the vast corners of the network, they're not close to finding anything when Dean's eyes are pulled to a dimmed file in the computer system. Not being all that versed in computers, he's not sure what it means. Clicking on it, a window pops up: 'This file has been deleted. Restore?"

Hell yes, restore.

After that an email window attempts to open and then crashes, followed by yet another box, "File damaged."

"Fuck!"

He's sure that'd been it. The saved email had been titled, "That crazy persons book."

"Maybe Sam can fix it," suggests Cas.

"Maybe," Dean agrees. "Anyway, I'm hungry. Wanna go get lunch somewhere?"

Cas strokes his fingers through the hair at the back of Dean's head and tugs twice as he answers. "Yes, I would like that."

In the elevator on the way down, a ten floor drop, Cas reaches past Dean and hits the red stop button. The elevator bounces to a stop, sort of like his stupid heart.

"Cas, c'mon, just lunch today. I'm hungry."

Moving into his space, backing Dean against the rail, Cas holds his eyes as he undoes his pants. "How hungry are you?"

Why oh why does Cas manage to reduce him to nothing but a raging erection? Four words, Dean, he tells himself. In four words, you're hard and ready to drop to your knees.

If he ever discovers what steamy novel they've been worked into, he's gonna have a damn chat with the author.

Using the metal rail to gradually ease to the floor, Dean's aware of the narrow space he's trapped in, the wall at his back and Cas' legs spaced to enclose him.

When was the last time he's done this? Twenty-three, maybe? Either way, it's been long enough that he's questioning his skills.

Cas takes his bottom lip with a forefinger and thumb and tugs to get him to open his mouth, when he does, he salivates in anticipation. The head of Cas' cock is flushed dark and smooth, jutting out proudly from his hips. Dean waits to be guided, knowing innately it's what Cas wants.

Staring down into his eyes, evidently enjoying Dean on his knees, Cas drags the blunt, plush head of himself across Dean's mouth, slides the length against his cheek, and the doubles back to swipe his lips again. It's infuriating to be teased this way; he wants the taste, the full swell of Cas' dick stuffing his mouth to the point he can’t breathe. He wants it more than air.

A whimper of desperation rises from his throat, passing loosely out of his gaping mouth. Cas' deep blue gaze darkens considerably and the smooth head of his cock pushes between his lips. Dean's lips are dry, and since Cas' shaft is too, Cas takes great care to grip himself and circle his dick inside the open cavity of Dean's mouth. This, with subtle thrusts gets them slick in short order, and Dean wraps his lips around the lightly veined shaft, smooth all the way until the base where a prickle of a few hairs graze his slippery lips.

Cas caresses Dean's head and face, sometimes in tender strokes, sometimes in gentle guidance.  It's the most joy Dean's ever gotten from giving pleasure and he knows he's probably leaking drops in his pants. Not that the tease this morning helped that.

"We belong together," Cas murmurs quietly, brushing Dean's hair back and palming the back of his head. Slow, rough fingers massage his scalp, urging him to take Cas deeper. It's nearly impossible not to gag, but with valiant effort and the sting of tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, Dean does what he can.

"Can I orgasm into your mouth, Dean?"

Dean doesn't answer. Not that he needed to, anyway. His loud, humiliating moan is answer enough.  Cas whispers his name, thrown in alongside curses and long drawn-out moans that Dean feels mostly in his pants.

The tightened grip that yanks on his short hair is enough precursor that he needs to ready himself. Cas braces against the wall, pants his name and pours shots of come into his mouth. Each spurt is a bit startling since it's been an incredibly long time since he's taken a dude's load. All those past times, he's spit, but now, he swallows it down.

Cas drops to his knees in front of Dean and grabs his face hard enough that it squishes his cheeks. His mouth is the next thing to get a crushing, from Cas' orgasm slackened lips. The kiss is a sloppy, passionate mess and he craves more of it.

They kiss hard and forgetful of where they are until Dean's stomach grumbles and something in the elevator starts to beep.

When Cas rears backwards, Dean's taken aback by the wide alarm in his eyes. "Cas, what is it? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"What if it is the case?"

Huh. "What? You mean this?" he smacks each of their chests.

"Yes, Dean. What if we kill the witch and this… this feeling is gone. I don't want to feel hollow like before. Or sad, the way I sometimes did when I wanted to touch you but couldn't."

Dean won't lie, but in the clutches of some spell, he can't make promises he may not keep. All he can do is offer comfort. Gathering Cas in his arms he pulls them both to their feet and takes Cas' hands and guides them around his neck. Stroking along the arms that held him as he slept just the night before, he kisses the top of Cas' cheek, just below his eyes, and then lower, and lower until his lips are grazing the subtle brush of Cas' lips.  "Don't think about that, think about this—" Dean kisses him more sinfully, guiding his tongue along the seam. "Think about this—" Dean reaches behind and strokes the centre seam of Cas' slacks. "Think about getting our own room tonight and getting naked."

The beeping of the elevator is a ceaseless nuisance that takes away from the moment. "Think about a warm bed with me in it, and the absolute absence of this _motherfucking_ godawful beeping!" he yells up at the stupid elevator.

Cas laughs, lines creasing the corners of his eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise." Didn't he say something about not making promises? Fuck…

By the time they actually eat lunch and make it back to the office, it's one-thirty and he busies his time trying to copy the file and send it to Sam.

An hour later, on his third game of solitaire, he gets an email from Sam with the subject line ominously titled, "Give Yourself to Me."

This better be the title of a book, he muses before clicking open the message.

_Dean,_

_By any chance, is **THIS** the story you and Cas are in?????????????_

_I wouldn't ask except… uhh… why does it smell like sex in our room????????_

_\- Sam._

Dean's afraid to open the attachment. When he does, it takes no more than a quick skim to realize that without a doubt, this is it. Something about some manly man being reduced to goo by some perfect guy.  Something about how they complete each other, and make each other better people and all that horsecrap.

Twenty minutes later he's glued to the screen reading word for word of a raunchy sex scene.

"What's with the naughty grin?"

Dean throws himself back from the desk, heart pounding, and tries to greet Cas with an innocent expression. Instead, he blurts the following: "I found it!" More like Sam did, but the distinction isn't all that important.

Cas must know what he means since he rushes over and shoves Dean out of the way to read too. After a couple pages of both of them glossing over the current ass-pounding the one guy is taking, Dean feels the hot tension agitate them a little bit.

"Dean." Cas delivers his name in an indication of something to come. Dean's spun a quarter turn in his chair and is attacked with a teeth-crashing kiss.

It's exhilarating. Dean clamours out of his chair, knocking something over and grabs and tugs at anything he can get his hands on. There's hot breath puffing into his mouth and over his tongue, and he fumbles to try and push Cas up onto the desk.

There's a ruckus out beyond the walls of his office, and he can't be bothered to care what it is. The constructs of a once-steady reality are falling apart into silos of individual stories. And _their_ story is suddenly all that matters to him.

Cas traps Dean with his legs and they both grapple at each other, half on the desk, half off. Dean's got a knee up on the chair, the thing swivelling dangerously. They're both so eager, he barely manages a proper kiss but instead settles for a pornographic open-mouthed flick of tongues that warms his blood.  

In a swift motion, Cas throws Dean back against the bookcase, the chair getting knocked and sliding across the floor. The slats of shelves dig into his back. From here, he can see the chaos of stories unfolding through the glass. They're all simultaneously reaching their climax, exactly the way he intends to.

"Fuck me," growls Dean.

Cas approaches him, a plan in mind clear in his features. Dean braces himself for the power that Cas has over him. He loves every aspect of giving himself over.  All his life he's wanted to let go for someone else, to be free of the emotional shackles he was raised in. Cas can take away the power that comes with responsibility.

"Not fuck, Dean, _love_. It's what you need from me; it’s what you've always needed. You just never saw that it was always there. Now you do… let me love you, Dean."

Cas smooths his palms across Dean's chest and down his torso, making his stomach clench, and then lower to force his eyes closed with the exact need Cas is referring. "Love me, then," says Dean.

The following motions are measured and careful. Clothes are patiently undone, unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled off. Deep kisses and whispered praises pass between them, and they're both two boxers shy of being naked when Sam bursts through the door in a wild flurry.

"Stop!" shouts Sam. The word alone isn't enough to stop the need for either of them. Dean does notice that Sam starts chanting something, but he doesn’t pay it the slightest attention and reaches out for Cas instead, the once-angel smiles and slides back into the warmth of their embrace.

There's a crash. A deafeningly loud shatter of something and the room seems to turn cold and bright all at once.

Looking at Sam and the mess of ingredients on the floor, Dean is utterly perplexed. Also, he's nearly naked. Though he remembers why, and can already tell everything's back to normal, he's shaken by the feeling of emptiness in his chest.

"What happened?" Dean asks, turning back to find Cas in the same oddly saddened state.

"What do you remember?" counters Sam.

"Everything, but it's all sort of fuzzy, like I've spent a week at the bar." Dean searches out his clothes and gets dressed. Beyond the glass wall, he can see the startled wonder of the others.

"Well, the file you sent me? It was definitely what we were looking for. The witch wrote this elaborate, insane tale about a bunch of supernatural shit and it was cheesy and intraoffice chit-chat made fun of it, but none of them knew it was one of their own. Witch got pissed and took revenge. I tried to call but you never answered and considering what I'd already suspected, I figured I better get down here before you guys did something you'd regret.

I got to your floor and the witch was there waiting for me. Anyway, she wasn't all that bad really, slighted and upset for the most part. I got her to help me with the reversal spell."

"Where is the witch now?" asks Cas.

Sam shrugs. "Dunno. She disappeared. I'm telling ya, she was damn powerful. If I hadn't gotten here when I did, you two would've been going at it against the bookcase and about three people would've died out there."

Dean should be relieved. "Yeah. Great timing, Sammy," Dean acknowledges, his voice devoid of the energy that should accompany it.

"Yes, Sam," adds Cas rudely, lacking necessary tact. "Perfect timing. Just… perfect." Brushing past Dean with his face turned away, Cas storms out, leaving Dean left to explain.

"Umm… I thought I… I thought the story no longer applied," Sam begins, but then it dawns on him. "Unless?"

Taking a deep breath, allowing a full expansion of his chest, Dean deadpans his brother. "Unless." He nods for emphasis.

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

"Not a problem, I kinda wondered if this would eventually happen. I'm not blind, but of course I didn't want to push. I almost said something when you started hallucinating Cas everywhere, and then again—

"—Sam?" Dean cuts in.

"Yeah?"

"Please shut the hell up and help these people while I go, uh, deal with… things."

"No problem." Sam smiles. "And Dean?"

Dean grunts in ascension.

"I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, yeah, let's never talk about what you walked into ever again."

/\/\/\

Dean finds Cas in the backseat of the Impala wearing a grim expression.  It's clear his friend thinks it's the end of a beginning. Steadying himself for an uncertain conversation, Dean opens the backseat door and lowers himself inside.

The car is quiet and Cas won't look at him. Dean isn't sure what to do to convey the innumerable things he feels. The ardency of pure desire is no longer a crippling factor between them, but something else is driving him now.

The work day has come and gone, and the time of the year means they have the privacy of darkness here. It's the only encouragement he needs. Words were never their strong suit. Why should they be now?

Dean toes his shoes off, an obvious enough gesture that it catches Cas' attention. Without a word, Dean crouches within the small confines of the car and climbs into Cas' lap, splitting his thighs to sit himself comfortably.

There's a definite question clouding Cas' blue intense wonder. The answer is as simple as a kiss, and he hopes it's enough.

"Love me, Cas."

The tension breaks into a relieved, beaming smile that warms Dean straight through. Cas tips his face up in search of another kiss, and Dean delivers without question or hesitation. After a minute, Dean pulls back. "Not in the car though, you know."

Cas rolls his eyes and grinds up into Dean. "I'll love you however, wherever I want."

Hmm, damn that voice. "Yeah, how about on top of the car, huh?"

"Or, on the table in the bunker?" suggests Cas.

"Or up against the bookcases in the library?"

"Or in your bed, with your legs wrapped around me."

"Here's a good one," Dean turns serious, holding Cas' face in his hands. "How about forever?"

It takes courage to say it. Dean's never been the type to promise anyone forever, but with Cas the commitment feels like a damn safe bet.

"Forever then…" Cas agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed and have a great day!


End file.
